To Find a Good Man
by onmute
Summary: It's been two very long, very painful years. Maddy can't forget Archer, and she refuses to let his memory go. Another ARCHER'S NOT DEAD! Fic. This time, he is the one pursuing her.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hi, it's been way too long since I've written anything, but here's a story for you. I loved this movie, but I can't cope with the idea of Danny dying. He's too tough for that, so here's my take on what happened post-phone call.

* * *

><p><strong>TO FIND A GOOD MAN<strong>

Two years, eleven months, thirty days and a handful of hours, minutes and seconds.

That's how long it has been since she had last spoken to him, and she can't help but keep track of time. No matter how often she refuses to let herself cry over him, no matter how often the thought of him being better off dead enters her brain, it never consoles her. She refuses to let go of him. Even though the facts are as they are, Maddy cannot bring herself to just let him go.

3:26 PM.

New York is alive beneath her, and she has a hard time allowing herself to be a part of it. She stands silently behind the large window of her office, blankly staring at the people below, but not really paying attention to them. They are a minor distraction, at best. In her hands, she holds her cell phone. The same one he had called her on two years prior. The same one with which she had begged him to tell her where he was. She knows it's hopeless, but she still wants and hopes so desperately to get another call from him that this is almost tradition, now.

"_You gonna call me?"_

"_Soon as I'm near a phone, ja."_

"_Yeah, right."_

Maddy hadn't been expecting that call to begin with. The memory of the sensation of her heart leaping up in her throat at the sound of his voice prods at her relentlessly, and she can't help but replay the rest of that conversation over and over in her head. That feeling of elation was fleeting, and it quickly turned to panic, then into denial. Grief inevitably followed. Grief was something she hadn't been able to cope with since then. She slowly turns the phone over in her hands, staring intently at the small screen, watching and waiting for it to light up. _Praying_ that it will ring.

_Praying_ that Archer will be on the other line.

3:28.

4:15.

No phone call.

_Just another year gone by_.

When six o'clock finally rolls around, Maddy pockets the phone once more as she gathers her things from her desk, and wordlessly makes her way out the door. She doesn't bother to say good night to anyone. She doesn't bother to stifle her emotions. Everyone in the office building and their mother knows full well why today is _her_ day not to be disturbed, questioned or harangued. Nobody would dare challenge it. As the elevator doors shuts behind her, she finds herself exceedingly thankful that no one else had decided to join her on the ride down. As the floors descend in number, she worries her lip with her bottom teeth, turning the phone in her palm, finally drawing it out again and tapping the 'on' key.

In the received calls roster, only one number remains. It isn't because she hasn't received any other calls, but rather because the only number she ever wants to see is _his._

The name_** Daniel Archer**_ stares back up at her in bold, black text.

_18 October 1999 3:24 PM - 3:36 minutes._

His voice echoes in her head insistently. It was almost as if his ghost was haunting her, and she wishes that for just one moment, the voice was real. She wishes he were here.

_I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be._

When the elevator doors opens, she steps out, makes her way through the lobby without giving any regard to the door man, and moves into the chill, damp autumn evening.

The subway ride is uneventful, and somehow it seems so quiet. Maybe she has been too lost in her own thought to notice anything, but from the moment she gets on the train to the moment she gets off, makes her way to her apartment, goes up to the 4th floor and shuts her apartment door behind her seems like only an instant. She keeps turning the phone over in her palm. She keeps hearing his voice. It wouldn't have been that hard to get to Kono. She could have chartered a plane and been there in an hour or less, and if he'd just had the sense to sacrifice his pride and let her know where the hell he was, maybe she would still be in Guinea. Maybe they would be together. Maybe they wouldn't; she couldn't say for sure. The one thing she is sure of was that he would have still been alive.

When the heavy door shuts behind her, she drops her keys into the small wooden dish on the table in the foyer. Maddy slumps against the door and brings a hand to her forehead, trying to coax away an oncoming headache. The stress of the day combined with the painful memories she has forced herself to relive makes the dull ache quickly turn into a rather painful throb, and for just a moment she manages to turn her attention away from Archer and to the Excedrin in the kitchen.

She drags her feet with every step. Thank god this day is almost over. Not that tomorrow would be much different, but at least the sting of the memory won't be as strong, then. At least tomorrow, she'd have some control over how much she could suppress it. After she had written and published the article on Van De Kaap and after Solomon and his family had been reunited, that front of strength that she'd forced herself to put on just kept on tumbling down in chunks. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and frankly, she didn't care to. It just took too much effort to not be sad.

As Maddy made her way into the kitchen, she passes her answering machine, and gives it a quick, irritated glare, noticing the flashing red light and the 01 next to it. A voicemail. She can only give a short, dry laugh and pass it by without a second thought. Of all days, today is the one day someone would choose to leave her a voicemail on her home phone. It seems almost like an insult. Like rubbing salt in her wounds.

After dry-swallowing two Excedrin, she manages to scrounge up something relatively edible from her fridge, and sits solemnly at the small island in the middle of the kitchen perusing the day's mail and picking at a piece of cantaloupe. Bills and advertisements, mostly. Even with the distraction of domestic life, he still lingers in her mind. He still pulls at her heartstrings, and that ragged, heavy voice of his won't leave her alone.

_T.I.A._

"God damn it."

Maddy slumps forward like a rag doll, headfirst into a pile of envelopes. He is exhausting. Even in death, the man is absolutely incorrigible. Even in death, he will not let her be. He is all she can think about today. In fact, he is all she can think about most days, but today is particularly difficult.

"God damn it, Archer." She mumbles to herself in the crook of her arm, punctuating her displeasure with a dramatic sigh.

Minutes tick by and Maddy refuses to move. She is thoroughly spent. Mind, body and soul, just spent. If ever there was a part of her life that she desperately wanted to hang on to and erase all at once, Archer was that part. It is times like these that his memory is almost too much to bear. His stony, serious eyes; that ridiculously catty grin, that sandy hair – She misses him wholly, and there is nothing that can console her.

She's gone right off being hungry, and the cantaloupe will have to be saved for another day. She puts the nibbled piece of melon back into the fridge, and goes pacing slowly around her apartment, thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Maddy wants a distraction so badly that she'd even consider buying it at this point. She supposed this was karma kicking her ass for not demanding that he get on that plane with her. This was her punishment for not insisting that she go with him; for not letting him insist back.

Back and forth across the floor. Over to the window. Maybe the television? No. Not tonight.

Maddy thrusts her hand deep into her pocket to palm the cell phone once again. She is still holding out for that call just as she'd done for the past two years, and even though she knows damn well that there would be no call, she still hopes for it. There is nothing to distract her from it except the possibility of sleep, and even then she knows that getting to sleep would be a chore in itself. Crossly, Maddy checks the time on the wall clock. Only 8:22.

She gives the phone a final squeeze before letting go of it and rolling her head back to release an exhausted sigh. Might as well go to bed. At least tomorrow is Saturday.

* * *

><p>She hadn't expected to wake up to rain, but rain is what wakes her up. A loud crack of thunder sounds ominously in the distance, followed by a weak flash of lighting a few seconds after.<p>

Groggy and both eyes still filled with sleep, she pulls the down comforter closer to her and nestles herself deeper within its warmth. _Thank God I don't have to go in today, _she thinks to herself. She isn't sure if she could deal with braving this weather, anyway. Not today at least. She definitely doesn't have the energy to, that much is certain. Maddy gives a soft moan and turns her face into the pillow, waiting for the next thunderclap to come. She thinks quite seriously about spending the day in bed. A little recuperation doesn't sound like that bad of an idea. No human interaction for a day would be nice.

Just as she settles for another few hours of sleep, she suddenly becomes acutely aware of the fact that the phone is clattering away on the night table next to her. When she manages to finally pull herself up into a position that is reminiscent of sitting, she cranes her neck just enough to get a view of the caller ID. She stares at it for a moment, eyebrows knit.

(000) 0000 0000 is the number listed.

She considered it for a moment. Not a US format. African? Possibly, but the numbers were all zero. If it is anyone she knows, they will leave a message, probably. If it isn't important, they will leave her be. It isn't her problem today, she reminds herself.

Once Maddy wraps herself back up in her warm cocoon of blankets, the phone continues to ring but she does her best to ignore it and get back to sleep. It doesn't matter that it is nearly 11 in the morning, today is a mental health day and she's allowed to sleep in. If anonymous caller has a problem with it, then so be it.

_Click_

_Hi, you've reached Maddy. I'm either at work, on the computer or overseas. Leave me a message if you want to. I can't promise I'll call back, though! Thanks!_

The tape begins rolling. There is background chatter. She can make out some of the muffled words, some French and some English. The person on the line clears their throat, and then there is a moment of silence before a voice is heard.

"Ah, I was hoping you'd pick up or I hadn't missed you. Can't call your cell phone, you know."

The voice on the other line causes her to sit bolt upright in bed.

"I'm guessing you either didn't get my voicemail or aren't home, huh? Either that or I've scared you shitless and you don't want to talk to me."

A knot in her throat the size of a softball begins to rise. She tries in vain to swallow it back down, but it's definitely not going anywhere. Eyes as wide as saucers and heart beating a mile a minute, she reaches desperately for the handset on the side of the bed, and grapples it with shaking hands. She jams her finger against the TALK button and answers the voice.

"Who is this?" She is stern. Her voice is shaking, but she is deadly serious.

"Oh so there you are. Here you ask if I'm going to call and then you don't bother to answer, huh?" His tone is as nonchalant as ever.

"Who the _fuck _is this? I'm not going to ask you again."

There is a short moment of silence. The sound of a throat being cleared again. Shuffling.

"I can't tell you anything right now, Maddy. I can't say a word because there might be someone trying to find me, huh? I can't tell you, but you_ know_ who this is." His voice had gone a bit hushed. "I know you don't believe it, I can't blame you. But please, listen to me."

_It can't be him. He's dead._ It becomes a mantra in her head as she listens to the voice on the other line.

"I've still got some friends, ja? Some connections. I've got a man setting something up for me. I might be taking a trip soon, huh? You keep your phone lines open. I'll need to contact you. Not your cell though, I don't trust cell phones."

"What-"

"No, I can't right now. I can't answer anything, but I'm okay, ja? I'm okay. I'm not as dead as you or some others would think."

There was a moment of silence. Maddy's eyes had filled with tears, and they were threatening to spill over, just like the rain coming down outside. She chokes back a sob and brings her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle herself. This is a dream, isn't it? It has to be a dream. He was _dead._

"I'm gonna call you again in a day or so. I've got some information I can't trust with anyone else. I don't _know_ anyone else. You've got to promise me. You need to be there when I call. And I _will_ call, huh? You can bet on that."

"I – I don't… How do I know it's _you?"_

He sighs heavily, and she can almost hear the cogs in his head turning. She has a point; it could be anyone with the ability to reproduce a very convincing South African accent and his trademark vitriol.

"You're gonna have to take my word on this one. Please, Maddy."

Another moment of silence. Her heart thunders away in her chest, almost as loud as the storm outside. If she didn't know better, she guessed he could have heard it beating away. Again, she swallows thickly and her grip on the phone tightens. This _has _to be a dream.

"Where –" Her voice cracks. "Where are you?"

"I can't tell you that right now. Really, I shouldn't even be talking to you."

She doesn't respond. There's nothing she can do to make herself say anything, although her mind is overflowing with question after question and then some. It's becoming difficult to even make sense of this situation at all. How is he alive? Where has he been? What does he mean by 'taking a trip soon', and to where?

"I'll call you again, huh? I'll call you. I swear."

And the line goes dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning. She refuses to go to work, and calls in sick. Says she has come down with something horrible; probably because of the rain and weather. Since that phone call, all Maddy has managed to do is pace her apartment, swear at no one, and cry out loud. She is sure that at this point, her neighbors above her probably think she's losing her mind. They aren't too far off. Eating has been put on the back burner, as well as sleeping, bathing, and anything that does not involve thinking about Danny Archer. She keeps the phone with her at all times, waiting for him to fulfill that promise. She knows he will call again, she just doesn't know when. In the three or four times the phone has rung so far, she has never picked it up past the first ring. There will be no chance of voicemail getting the calls, now.

It's 8 AM. She's already been up for three and a half tiring hours when the phone finally rings for the first time today. In a panic, she snatches the phone away from the coffee table and stands upright, handset pressed hard to her ear.

"Hello?" Her voice is strained.

"Ja, hi. It's me."

She breathes a deep, but shaky sigh and a feeling of relief washes over her like a wave. It's _him._ Hearing his voice is like music, and though she forces herself not to gush and bawl like a baby at him, she feels that familiar knot rising once more. It's difficult to suppress and makes talking very hard.

"H-Hi."

"Hello Maddy."

She isn't sure what to say to him. "So. You called."

"I said I _would_, huh?" There's an almost happy tone to his voice, and it's maddening.

After the greeting, there is another moment of silence. She slides down to the floor against the wall, knees buckling close to her chest. She shuts her eyes and just listens. She can hear him breathing. She can imagine the rise and fall of his chest. Another sure sign that he's alive, and most definitely not dead. It's so _good_ to hear him breathe.

"So anyway, I've got a minute or two to talk now; I'm not on a pay phone."

She bites her lip.

"Where… where the _hell_ have you been? What happened?"

"Ah. Much as I would like to tell you, I can't just yet. I'm not out of the woods yet. I wanted to tell you I'm gonna be going on a trip soon, so you may or may not hear from me for a while, huh?"

"You planning on dying again?"

Another stretch of silence. A silence so deadly serious she thinks for a moment that it might actually be a possibility.

"Ja, well. I can't really say. I'd like to stay alive at least long enough to get where I'm going, huh? You understand."

"Not really, no."

"Well. You will in time."

The two remain on the line with one another, just listening. Not wanting to say anything to ruin this awkward reunion. Maddy is gripping a handful of her hair and tugging on it, eyes shut tightly, trying desperately to push the tears back. Her head is on her knees. She wants so badly to be able to put up a front, but she is finding it exceedingly difficult. Her heart wells up with so much emotion she can hardly bear it, and all the while, the most painful silence continues between them. She can't hold it back anymore. She chokes, loudly. A gasp. She sniffles into the sleeve of her arm and wipes away the tears as best she can, mostly smearing them all over her face.

"I _missed_ you," she manages. "I thought… I don't know. I don't know what I thought."

"Shh, it's alright, now." He tries to comfort her, but it's never been his strong suit. "I'm alive and well, huh? I'm okay, I told you. Don't cry, you great big baby."

Maddy can't help but smile at that, and she lets out a loud, childish laugh before sniffling again, rubbing her cheeks red. He's still such an asshole.

"You can't tell me about this… trip?"

"Not yet, no."

"Are you leaving Africa?"

He is silent, but she can imagine him setting his jaw and giving her a steely glare. She probably shouldn't have asked that.

"I told you Maddy, I can't say. Everything's gonna make sense in time, I promise. I said I'd call you, huh? And I did. So please trust me, I'm gonna tell you everything when I can."

"But when-"

"Soon, alright? I said soon now, so don't push it. You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

"I _am_ a journalist."

"So you have been, and so you are." He laughs coolly. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner."

"Well, you called on Saturday."

"I know, I meant sooner than that, huh? I've been off the map."

"You were dead for two years."

"Ja, well as far as anyone but you, me and a few others are concerned, I am _still_ very much dead, you understand? I am not around."

"Yeah."

"Good."

It was starting to make sense. She couldn't figure out the circumstances of _anything, _but Maddy did sort of understand, to a point. How he had managed to stay alive was a mystery, and how he had managed to stay hidden for two years was another feat in itself. Despite Van De Kaap suffering significantly for the schemes Archer had helped her uncover, it was still very much alive and well, and was still a very prevalent company with _very_ prevalent powers. She supposed that those powers were none too happy with Archer. Staying 'off the map', as he put it, only made sense.

"…Are you going to call again?"

"Ah, well, that's a tough one. I'm going to say no, not for a long while. I can't say how long that's going to be exactly, but I'd reckon more than a few weeks."

"But… you _will_ call again, right?"

"We'll see." And almost as if he's forgotten the purpose of the phone call in the first place, his voice springs to life. "Oh hey, while I've got you, I need to know, have you got an address I can send something to? Home, if it's possible. I don't trust sending this to an office."

"My address? I… what are you sending me?"

"Christ, I told you I can't answer anything yet. Do you or do you not have somewhere to receive packages?"

"…Yeah. I do." She pauses, rubbing her temples. He is _exhausting._ "You have a pen?"

"Ja, just a second." The sound of shuffling paper. "Alright, go on."

As she reads the location off to him, her mind is racing. She can't lose him again. She can't let him go and then never hear from him again, and to her, it sounds like that's exactly what he wants to do. It sounds to her like this is just some 'farewell' that he is giving her out of courtesy. But then, why would he have called in the first place? Wouldn't he have just kept silent about being under wraps? None of it makes any sense, and she wants some answers desperately, but knows full well that he is too stubborn to give her any, and his words are too tricky for her to believe them anyway.

"Thanks, huh? Keep an eye out. I'll be sending you something soon."

She swallows her questions. As difficult as it is to accept, she has to.

"Alright."

There is another silent streak. There seems to be a lot of those, when he is on the phone. What a stark contrast to their continuous back and forth when in person. It's almost refreshing, in a way.

"…You know," He begins. "I didn't mean to… I dunno. Worry you, I guess."

She laughs. "You didn't mean to worry me? You called me and I thought you were dying. I was expecting to be asked out on a date or something."

"Hey, I _was_ fucking dying, huh? I was bleeding out." He sighs. "But… I know what you mean. I just… didn't expect to live. If I knew I was going to make it, I wouldn't have given you a ring."

"How gentlemanly. _Hey Maddy_, I'm dying, have fun dealing with that! Oh, and make sure Solomon's son doesn't get shot or killed or anything." There was a tangible bite in her words.

"Watch what you say, huh? I can't say who might or might not be listening in." His voice had become hushed, and she could practically imagine that hardened gaze of his.

She swallowed her next retort quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was to put him in any more danger than he might already be in, and she especially didn't want to lose him to her sharp tongue. Hopefully, there would be time for verbal lashings later. For now she would have to put her frustration in her pocket, and be content that Archer was not dead, and had time to talk to her.

"Sorry."

"Ja, well, listen Maddy – I better get going. Like I said, you'll be getting something from me soon, huh? I'll try and keep you updated on when it's arriving."

"Thanks. Thanks… for calling me."

Again, the line goes completely dead. Maddy can't move the phone from her ear. She sits there pressing the earpiece to her head, wishing the dial tone would give way to his voice once again, but when it doesn't, and when it inevitably goes silent, she presses the 'OFF' button and is once again left on the floor, reeling.

* * *

><p>"Maddy…"<p>

No response.

"Hey, Maddy?"

"Huh?"

"We're gonna go grab some lunch. Do you want to come?"

"Oh. Um, no, I can't. I've got… a few things I'm working on. But thanks, Leah."

The short blonde girl stares at her coworker as she leans against the door frame of Maddy's office. She gives the other woman a peculiar look, and cocks her head disdainfully.

"Alright. Well, I'm going to bring you back a salad anyway, and you better eat it, okay?" She shrugs her shoulders with concern.

"Okay."

She responds by offering Leah a small lie of a smile. She hasn't been eating or sleeping well since she last spoke with Archer, and it is showing. She's losing weight, and there are bags starting to form under her eyes. She looks perpetually exhausted, and no one in the office can figure out why, exactly. Some of them have their hunches, but no one knows for sure. She does know that people have been talking. Not only about her demeanor, but because she has been so distracted. Her work has been late, she's been a complete recluse, and she is a shell of the Maddy they all used to know.

Today, she busies herself with catching up on late projects. She _was_ writing an article for the Times about her travels in Africa, but every other sentence she manages to jot down seems to be peppered with remnants of Mr. Danny Archer. She begins writing about the wide, beautiful savannah and finds herself wondering in her words about what he must have seen as he lay there, wherever he was, dying.

She stares scornfully at the screen, and jams down the backspace key until the words disappear.

Another sigh. She leans forward, head in her hands, still stressed. She just wants to know where he is. If he is okay. What the _hell_ he is sending to her. There are far more questions than answers, and for once, she finds herself uncomfortable with that. Strange, for a journalist.

She watches the cursor blink against a white field, and her mind is a whirlwind and blank all at once. There are so many things she wants to write, but nothing that she thinks anyone will be willing to read.

_BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP._

The phone startles her. Her eyes widen and she feels her pulse quicken, though she knows it is most likely not Archer. Quickly, she picks up the receiver.

"This is Maddy Bowen."

"Hello, Miss Maddy."

She slumps back into the chair and heaves a sigh. The voice _is_ male, and it _is_ familiar, but it is not Danny.

"Oh my goodness, Solomon, hi. It's, uh… been a while. Nice to have you call."

"Yes, it has been some time and it is nice to hear your voice. I wish I had called simply to talk, but ah, I was… I have some information I was asked to give to you, but I am not sure if a phone call is the best way to… tell you. Is… do you have a… ah… a fax… machine?"

"Oh, a fax? Yes, we have one." She pauses and knits her eyebrows thinking seriously about what she is being told. There isn't a question in her mind that Archer is using Solomon as a delivery boy, and though that strikes a nerve in her, she knows that he is doing it of his own volition. His arm isn't being twisted this time. "Um. Solomon..." She leans forward in her chair. "Can you tell me who asked you to contact me?"

Silence.

"…He is… a friend."

She pauses, contemplating what that could mean.

"Do I _know_ this friend?"

"You have known him. This is all I can say. He will tell you whatever else you need to know by himself."

"Ah. I see."

After a quick exchange of numbers, she manages to get him to talk for a few moments about his family; his son. She asks how Dia is doing, and is more than happy to find out that he is in high school now, and he is an excellent student. He still has aspirations to be a doctor. Despite all that they have been through, they are all happily living in London, and are living a modest but comfortable life with the money from the pink. Things are well for them. She wishes she could say the same for herself. There is an unspoken tension between them; it is as if Solomon wants to divulge more than he is allowed to, but he has learned of Archer's anger in the past, and has no desire to stoke it again.

After they hang up with one another, Maddy is left to sit in her chair and ponder. She thinks seriously about what he could possibly be sending her, but has little time to think too deeply, as her fax machine sounds off with a high pitched whine behind her. She spins around in the chair and watches intently at it prints.

Inch by inch, black toner forms words on the paper, and as soon as the print heads stop, she snatches the sheet from the output tray. Her eyes scan the paper intensely. It is hand written.

**TO MADDY BOWEN**

**PLEASE SAVE THIS NOTE**

**SOLOMON SENT THIS FOR ME TELL HIM THANK YOU FOR ALL HES DONE - AND I WILL CONTACT YOU SOON PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO REACH ME OR CALL SOLO AND ASK ANY QUESTIONS**

**JULIET FOXTROT KILO 11 NOVEMBER 2002**

**NUMBER 2339**

**9PM**

**D.A.**

She stares at the paper, reading it over and over again. Juliet Foxtrot Kilo… what does that mean? It makes no sense to her. She narrows her eyes at it and scans it once more, but fails to make heads or tails of it, despite how hard she's trying. There's one thing she does know, though. D.A. is Danny Archer. That is _his_ handwriting. She suddenly wishes so badly that somehow, Solomon had sent the actual note, if only it meant having a piece of him closer to her. He is so frustrating that she can barely express it.

With a final, decisive sigh, she folds the note and slips it into her pocket, alongside that cherished cell phone. She'll have more time to look it over once she gets home – once her head has cleared a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days pass without any further contact from either Solomon or Archer. She has been left waiting and confused once again, with a cryptic note written partially in phonetics and horrific grammar.

November 11 is the only part that makes any real sense to her. It's a date, obviously, but for what she still has no idea. She reads the note every day, hoping that each time she casts her eyes upon the sheet of paper, some great mystery will be revealed. Unfortunately, the only real thing that is made clear to her is that Archer is being an ambiguous bastard. She understands why he has to be, but that doesn't mean she likes it.

Even with this little contact, as brief and confusing as it has been, she gains some sort of short-lived inner peace that helps her power through the day. Knowing Archer is at least alive has given her a way to drown out the outside world and get things done. So long as her mind lingers on him, she can function. She hasn't told anyone at all about anything. It isn't as if they would care or even understand the significance of his life, but having that little secret all to herself causes some kind of happiness to blossom in her heart.

When she arrives home on the 11th of November, she is partially hoping to see some kind of package in her mailbox. Maybe another pink that no one was told about? Maybe some kind of package full of additional names and numbers she can use in her journalism. Maybe even something more profound than that. But as she pushes the key into the lock and turns it, the door to the mail box swings open and there is nothing but envelopes.

She scans through them quickly, searching for one without a return address. Maybe one that has been hand-written. All that looks back up at her is a pile of advertisements and bills.

As she holds the pile of mail out in front of her, she bows her head and gives a sigh, her eyebrows knit. She isn't sure what this means.

Her first instinct is to rush upstairs to her apartment and call Solomon, time differences be damned. But she remembers the note safely lodged in her pocket, and Danny's explicit request to NOT contact anyone.

"Damn it." Her voice is low as she whispers the curse to herself.

Frustrated, she slams the door to her mailbox shut and retrieves the key, then enters the elevator. The ride up to her floor is maddeningly slow.

After she's locked her apartment door behind her, she draws the note out of her pocket again, and scours it, trying to turn every single possibility over in her head. 11 November. Obviously, that is today. The phonetics still make no sense – at first she considers that it might stand for JFK, as in John F. Kennedy International Airport, but the concept seems so silly she doesn't consider it for any longer than it takes her to think of it. The four digit number is as ambiguous as ever, but 9PM is clearly the time of day. What is supposed to happen at 9PM? There are no instructions other than not to contact anyone.

She would have to trust him.

After a shower and a dinner of leftover Thai food, Maddy manages to force herself to relax as much as possible. She lays out on the sofa in her living room coddled in blankets, the TV playing CNN International. More bad news; it never mattered which channel you chose. In retrospect, it probably isn't the wisest choice in the world, but what could she say? She is a glutton for punishment, and everyone knows it.

She looks up at the wall clock occasionally.

7:24.

8:12.

8:56.

When the hands on the face read 9, she pauses. She listens. She waits. For what, she isn't sure. Maddy hopes that something, _anything_ will happen. She wills the phone to ring. She silently begs her fax machine to turn on. Still, it is as quiet as ever. Nothing spectacular or notable about 9PM.

Minutes tick by.

When 9:30 rolls around she crosses her arms at the note she had left out on the coffee table.

"Ridiculous." She isn't really talking to anyone in particular, but the fact remains that she's followed instructions, and to no resolution. It's November 11. It's past 9PM. Not a damn thing has happened.

Momentarily, she considers staying up as late as she possibly can to see if anything occurs; if the elusive creature known as Archer decides to step out of the shadows and make contact. She isn't counting on it, so she thinks better of wasting her energy. She turns the volume down on her television set so that it is barely audible, and grabs a pillow for herself from a nearby armchair. She'll stay awake until she succumbs to sleep. It is all she can do, for now.

"_Hello, Maddy Bowen –"_

"_Yeah." A heavy gasp. "Thought I'd never call, huh?"_

"_And I'm so glad you did! Um… when am I gonna see you?"_

"_Maddy – I want you to do me – one more favor, huh?" He sniffs wetly. "I want you to go meet Solomon in Conakry."_

"…_In Guinea. Why do you want me to go to Guinea?"_

"_We found his son, but-" It's getting harder for him to speak, now. Gasps and panting becomes more frequent than the words themselves. "He's gonna need some help. You understand...Maddy?"_

_He lets out a grunt of pain and brings his hand to the bullet wound. The pain is intense._

"_You're hurt… Are you hurt?"_

"_Ja, well, I've got a little problem here…" He sniffs again, trying to hold his composure. _

"_Okay. You, um… You tell me where you are." She gets no response, only the sound of a Cessna engine. "…Archer?"_

"_I'm looking at… at an Incredible view, right now." He sighs, his voice wavering. Sincere. "I wish you were here, Maddy."_

"_Okay, then I'm coming to be with you, you just tell me where you are."_

_Another sigh. "I don't think so."_

"_Are you still in Kono?" She nearly chokes on her words. "Because I can get someone there to help you."_

"_Maddy, you find someplace safe for the boy, a'right? And keep him out of sight. And get Solomon to London. He-" Archer is panting again, the pain piercing through his words, although he tries in vain not to let it. "He's bringing something with him, and he's gonna need your help."_

_Nearly in tears, she pleads with him, childlike and afraid. "Why aren't you bringing it yourself?"_

"_I'm saying – it's a real story, now. And you can write the hell out of it."_

_There is silence between them, aside from his labored breathing. She is lost for words._

"_I'm really happy I met you. You know that?" He wants so much for her to understand that he means every word of it. He wishes he had the heart to say more._

"_Yeah, I'm um – I'm really happy I met you too. And… I wish I could be there with you."_

"_That's alright." He manages. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."_

"_Archer?"_

"Archer-!"

She gasps, sitting bolt upright on the couch. Her heart is pounding. There are hot tears on her cheeks, and that detestable familiar lump has risen up in her throat like a rock. She tries to swallow it, and paws at her eyes with the backs of her hands. It was a dream.

Only a dream.

As she rubs the tears and sleep out of her eyes, she slowly lets them adjust to the TV still glowing in the dim of the room. She squints at the wall clock, and it says 10:22. She's been asleep for barely an hour, but it feels like days. Her limbs are heavy and every motion is tinted with sleep. She is uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. Almost instantly, her attention is drawn to the wrinkled note on the coffee table. For a moment, relief fills her from top to bottom. _It was a dream. He's alive. He __**is**__alive._

It takes her a second to realize though, that the note was essentially meaningless. How typical of him. First he calls her and causes her heart to break for him, and then suddenly reappears out of thin air three years later, bearing cryptic messages and notes sent by messengers who should have cut ties with him long ago. She is thankful for his life, but part of her is still bitter towards him. She is doing her best not to take his existence for granted, though.

Maddy manages to look away from the note, and bring herself back down from the emotional high. She slips down against the warm blankets and brings a hand up to wipe the sweat from her brow. This is too much.

She shuts her eyes only for a moment, and feels as though she is about to slip away into sleep again, when an unfamiliar sound catches her attention.

It's tapping.

Once again, Maddy perks up, her eyes wide open now. Tapping?

At this hour?

Not to mention, no one ever comes calling for her at home, and her neighbors may not even know she exists at all. She pauses and listens for it again, and sure enough, soft rapping is coming from her apartment door.

Slowly and quietly, she manages to wake her arms and legs up and get them into somewhat of a working fashion, and she creeps over to the foyer, careful of the floorboards that whine when you step on them. She can see shadows from beneath the doorjamb. Someone is out there. She can't yet say who it is exactly, but there is definitely someone behind that door.

She had never been particularly clever-footed, but she manages this time to keep some sort of silence and stealth going, though she's not quite sure why she is doing it. She chalks it up to having to try and avoid conflict wherever she goes. It is habit, at this point.

The tapping continues, and she can see that whoever is outside the door is shifting their weight nervously. She narrows her eyes and closes one, looking apprehensively through the peep hole.

And there he is.

Standing right in front of her between a two inch slab of wood, he is there. Danny Archer is there.

The familiar appearance of the former-smuggler seems to have disappeared completely, though. He seems to have foregone the white wifebeater and patterned shirt for a rather smart looking suit and a pair of glasses. His hair is combed. He looks tame, almost. Nervously, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and glances down at a piece of paper. He looks to the right and to the left, confused. He seems unsure of himself.

He is about to try tapping on the door once more before he stops himself at the sound of the locks being unlatched.

It's been so long.

He tenses up and straightens his back as much as he can, and swallows thickly. This is going to be interesting.

As the last lock sounds off noisily, the door is flung open, and he is met with quite a sight.

There stands Maddy, hair a disheveled mess, wearing only an oversized tee, a pair of socks and what he assumes are pyjama bottoms. He looks her up and down, and she can only stare back, almost as if she is looking at a ghost.

"Hi." He grins. "Long time no see, huh?"

Wordlessly, she reaches out and grabs him by the tie and reels him into the apartment like a game fish. He flounders a bit, losing his footing to her impressive grip and strength. The door closes behind the pair with a loud slam, and at this very moment, courtesy to her neighbors is the absolute last thing on her mind.

Her heart is beating faster than it ever has, and again that wellspring of emotion inside her is bubbling up, threatening to explode. She can only look at him, now. Her hand is still clenched tightly on the soft piece of silk fabric around his neck, and she relishes the tangibility of it. He is_ here._ Alive! He's smiling at her, grinning like a damn wild dog. She doesn't know whether to be furious or elated, and her heart isn't giving her much assistance in deciding.

"If you like the tie that much, you can have it, huh?"

Classic Archer. He attempts to dissuade the situation with that trademark dry humor of his, only because he has no idea how to react, either. He can see the fire, the anger in her eyes. There is a look of confusion and relief on her face. She is pulling him closer, and there isn't much he can do about it.

Gingerly, he raises a hand, and motions to the silken noose she is choking him with. Deft fingers pull on one end of it, and the thing comes loose, falling limply from his neck. She still clutches to the green fabric, and he takes a step back, still smiling at her. He is waiting for a response, and he isn't sure of what to expect. This woman was, and still is a firecracker. The only thing that's changed is their location.

Silence continues between them as she looks him over. He looks good. _Really_ good. Whatever he has been doing, he's been taking care of himself. That is for certain. The only real difference is there is now the most subtle hint of grey about his temples. Other than that, he looks toned, well fed, and definitely well dressed. This stokes the fire in her belly even further. She wasn't sure what to expect. She honestly wasn't even expecting _him_ to begin with, but she definitely did not picture Danny Archer the businessman. She pictured a war-worn ex-smuggler with a sizeable bounty on his head, ragged from stress and running. This polar opposite was almost infuriating.

With a wail, she lurches forward and tries to whip him with his tie. She howls at him and he backs away, trying his damnedest not to laugh at her.

"Oi! Come on, now! That isn't any way to treat a guest, huh? Ow, Maddy-!"

She manages to slap him square in the face with the wide end of the tie.

"You mother _fucker!_" She screams. "You son of a bitch!" Tears flow down her cheeks, and her voice seems to rise with every word. "How… why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

He continues to back away from her, hands up in surrender. He tries to coax her into toning her voice down, but it is essentially useless. Archer knows he can't blame her after all she's been put through in the past weeks. He knows damn well why she is cross with him.

"Hey, now come -" He manages to dodge another blow. "I _did_ tell you, huh? You didn't get the note I had Solomon send you?"

"I _did_ get the fucking note, but I didn't know what the fuck to make of it, you asshole!"

Tie in hand, she lunges at him again, and he backs away against a wall. Just as she is about to bring her hand down against his cheek, he catches her wrist and holds it. He is gentle, but firm. Maddy's eyes lock on to his, and she sets her jaw at him. They are both overwhelmed. They can see it in one another. Archer is struggling to find words, and Maddy is struggling to stifle herself. She watches him. She looks at the familiar lines of his face, searching him as though she needs to confirm that he isn't an impostor. The harder she looks, the more she knows that it is really him. Those blue eyes made even bluer by the glasses can't lie to her, no matter how much his tongue can.

"You…_ fucking…_"

Before she can finish her insult, she crumbles. The wellspring breaks. Tears flow like rain, and her grip on the tie loosens as it falls silently to the floor. Her heart is aching and bursting all at once, and her mind reels as her knees weaken, and she buckles. She falls forward, face buried in his shirt. She grabs the lapels of his jacket tightly, and refuses to let go.

_He's here._

_He is HERE. _

_I'm not letting you go, again._

It is a promise that she silently makes to him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be clearer, huh?" His voice is barely a whisper. He sets his chin on top of her head, wraps his arms around her, and holds her tightly should she choose to lose her footing. It isn't just for stability though, he's missed this. He's wanted this for three years.

"I didn't want to risk anything."

She can only cry. Everything is so overpowering. Her life has been such an up and down roller coaster during the past few weeks that now this sudden realness and stability has caught her off guard, completely. She breathes him in. His cologne combined with that natural smell he has – a little like leather and tobacco and some kind of grain – is heady. It's something she never thought would enter her senses again. She lets her hands drop from the lapels, and instinctively, they go around his neck.

He can only pull her closer.

This is something he refused to allow himself to have for _far_ too long. Even now, he is apprehensive about letting her get close to him, but it isn't Maddy he is trying to punish. He knows what he is, what he was, and who he will be. He knows the circumstances of his employment, past, present and future. But now, maybe there can be some resolve. Maybe now there can be some peace, if only for a while.

Archer brings a hand up and tangles his fingers in her hair. He closes his eyes and presses his cheek against hers, trying to get used to her physical presence. The idea of her was always lovely. It was something he'd kept tucked away in his mental locker for safekeeping. Her eyes, her smile… everything about her was sacred to him. But now, here she was, and here they were, together. Something he had wanted, but denied himself for far too long.

"Shh, a'right? Hush, now. Come on." He tries to coax her into calming down, but he knows it is useless. "Come on, Maddy. It's enough, now, huh?"

She swallows a few sobs, and manages to shake herself, mentally. Still, her mind is a blank.

"I…" She tries to talk, but now, words are nonexistent. She remains pressed against him, and all she wants to do is feel him. His strong arms are around her waist and back. He's holding her like a doll. As her knees weaken further, he tightens his hold on her, and does his best to keep her on her feet.

"Let's sit you down." He manages to turn her so they can walk together, and with some effort, he escorts her to one of the bar stools in front of the kitchen island. She is shaking all over. Her hands are tremoring and she feels a strange tingle run down her spine as contact between them breaks. When he lets go of her, Archer looks at her for a moment, examining her.

"You alright?"

Without looking at him, she gives a weak nod.

Archer is satisfied with that response, for now. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and rubs the back of his neck nervously. He _really_ can't blame her.

He slips off his jacket and tosses it carelessly on an armchair in the living room area, and then goes back to pace the kitchen. Neither party says word one to each other, and Archer likes it that way, for now. His eyes scan the counter tops and fall on a can of coffee grounds. Without asking permission, he rifles through the cabinets and is somewhat intrigued to find them more or less bare, save for a few empty mugs and the odd china plate. He retrieves two of the cups and a coffee filter from the open box.

Now seems like a good a time as any to drink something caffeinated.


	4. Chapter 4

It definitely takes a significant amount of sweet talking on his part, but Archer has managed to calm Maddy down to the point where she is at least semi-coherent. They spend nearly an hour and a half simply smiling at one another and making small talk, not really saying much in the way of questions or answers. It is late, he is exhausted from the flight and she is spent from crying, and the emotional highs and lows. The coffee has perked them both up a little, but it is mutually decided that more than three cups is likely not the best of ideas.

Maddy had asks him sheepishly if he has a place to stay, and when he replies that he has an apartment lined up but it won't be ready for at least another week or so, she offers without hesitation to let him stay with her. He considers telling her about the hotel room waiting for him on the other side of town, but thinks better of it. Keeping Maddy company seems much more appealing at this point.

Bedtime rolls around at around 1:30 in the morning, and Maddy has graciously offered to let him sleep in her bed and she'd take the couch, but he declines out of some kind of pseudo-politeness he's worked up, saying that the couch will be a welcome change from the cramped airline seat he's been in for the last seventeen hours or so.

Sleep doesn't come easily to either of them. Maddy finds herself awake for most of the night, wanting desperately to leap out of bed and run into the living room to make sure Archer is _really_ there. It is like a dream, to her. She has a hard time believing that this man is actually in her apartment, not halfway around the world and six feet under. Instead of getting up as she wants to, she tosses and turns in bed, trying to force her eyes closed. They will not close without a fight though, and she figures at some point that insomnia is a good excuse as any to get up and rifle through the medicine cabinet for some Nyquil… and maybe check on Archer along the way.

She creeps down the hallway from her bedroom and as she reaches the living room, she peeks impishly around the corner. She figures Archer will have already passed out from the flight, but to her surprise she finds him wide awake, standing at a window he's cracked open. In one hand is another cup of coffee and in the other, a cigarette.

He looks up, a bit startled.

"You aren't sleeping yet?"

She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, looking him over. Again, she struggles to find words to adequately express what she is feeling. It's somewhere between elation and complete nonsense, and there is no word in the English language – or any _other_ language for that matter – to describe what's in her heart.

"Um." She starts, bringing a hand up to her mouth again. She feels once more like she's about to cry. "No, I'm um… I can't sleep. I was gonna take some Nyquil to put me out."

"Ah."

He turns back to the window and takes a long drag off of the cigarette, tapping the ash off of the end. Archer doesn't know what else to say. He knows that in the morning, he'll have more than his share of explaining to do, and he wants so badly to get a leg up on it, but he can see the exhaustion in her face. He can hear it in her voice. The last thing he needs to do now is keep her up and worry her even more than she is already.

"I'm probably gonna try to get some shuteye soon, huh. It's just that jet lag, you know?"

"Yeah." She's made her way over to the kitchen sink, and she's opened the cabinet door above it. She stands on tiptoe, not quite able to see what it is she's grabbing. First, there's a package of cough drops. Then a bottle of iodine.

He can't help but watch her, and think of how utterly ridiculously helpless she looks in her own environment. This is a far cry from the Maddy he met in Sierra Leone, but she is so completely endearing that he lets his stony exterior drop for a moment. Swiftly, he crushes the butt of the cigarette against the windowsill and flicks it away. He walks over to her and reaches up from behind her, easily grabbing the box she's been looking for. He turns and hands it to her, and she gawks at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

"Uh. Thanks." She offers a sheepish smile, and turns away to get some water from the fridge.

"Ja, ja." The response is so familiar to her that she can't help but grin, even though he doesn't see it.

"So," She begins, filling her cup with water. "You can tell me why you're here, now. Right?"

He pauses. Yes, he _can_, but he'd rather not drag things out tonight. "Ja. Um, we can talk about it tomorrow though, huh? You had better go to sleep."

Maddy turns to him and looks at him fearlessly, locking gazes. Even though this domestic setting has toned down her ferocity, it still lingers and he can feel it, like tendrils of vine gripping at him. She wants answers, and he knows quite honestly she deserves them.

Gingerly, he places his hands on her arms and gives them a soft squeeze. "Tomorrow, huh? I promise, I'm not going to go anywhere."

It's as if he has read her mind.

She exhales in a deep sigh, smiles, and looks down at the cup. She will have to surrender for now.

"Alright."

* * *

><p>For a moment, he forgets where exactly he is. Sleep is still tinting his mind quite heavily, and the first thing that registers on his consciousness is some kind of wonderful smell. It is food; that much he can discern. It smells like heaven dipped in chocolate and deep fried in bliss, and it's definitely more than enough motivation to get him up. Slowly, he pushes himself up and off of the couch and throws his hands up above his head, stretching out like some kind of great big cat. He lets out an impressive yawn and throws his head left and right, cracking the bones in his neck quite audibly.<p>

"Good morning."

He raises an eyebrow at the greeting and rubs at his eyes, squinting at the mid-day sunlight hitting him square in the face.

"It's morning?"

"Well, it's morning somewhere. Here, it's about one-thirty."

"Christ, I slept that long, huh?" He yawns again and shakes his head, trying to get rid of the feeling of lethargy. Aside from being jet lagged, he feels pretty good.

"Yep."

"You cooking something?"

"You could say that. Just bacon and eggs. You want any?"

Archer nods his confirmation, stretches out once more and slowly gains his footing, then walks over to where she's standing. Surprisingly, she looks a bit better than she did last night. It seems that her nerves are still somewhat frazzled, but she doesn't look as frantic. She doesn't seem afraid.

"So, you're gonna tell me what's going on." It isn't a request or a question, it's an order.

"Boy, you don't waste any time, do you?" He grins at her. She gives him a knowing look and reciprocates the grin slowly.

"No, I don't. Now if you want any of this food, tell me what the _hell_ you're doing here." She waggles a strip of bacon in front of him and then pops it into her mouth, tauntingly.

"Oh now that's cruel, huh? You don't torture a man with food."

"If it'll make you talk…"

He sighs, defeated. It's not something he is looking forward to discussing immediately after he wakes up, but it's got to be done. She deserves answers, and for the past few weeks he has been promising them without following through.

"Ja, okay. A'right." He clears his throat, nervously. "Can I smoke in here?" He looks up to her from his seat at the island, tapping his fingers anxiously on the countertop.

"If you open a window." With a spatula, she gestures to the window he'd cracked last night. He walks over to it hurriedly and pops it open, and produces his pack of cigarettes from his trouser pockets. He'd forgotten to take them out before he went to bed last night, and he grumbles indignantly as he realizes he's squished quite a few of them.

"A'right." He rolls the flint on his zippo and brings the small flame to the cigarette, inhaling deeply. "What do you want to know?"

"Start from the beginning," She says, solemnly. "What happened… after you told me to go to Conakry?"

"Ja. Well, to be honest, the details are a little fuzzy, you see." He rubs his neck anxiously. "I was dying, I mean, I know I was. I had a fucking bullet in my lung."

Maddy stays silent, scraping at an empty frying pan.

"But I assumed at the time that the Colonel's company found me, and couldn't let me die on my own terms, huh? I mean, I woke up in a hospital – I don't know how long after I sent Solomon and Dia away – I found out I was somewhere in Pomfret."

"_Pomfret?_" There is disbelief in her voice.

"Ja, ja. Anyway, I'd been taken to a military hospital, and stayed there for six weeks or so to recuperate."

He inhales sharply on the cigarette, and lets the smoke lilt out the window as he exhales.

"They wanted to Court Marshall me, you know? Because of what happened to Coetzee; never mind the fact that the stupid son of a bitch had it coming, and never mind that I got out of the military years ago. They all knew about what our deal was. And suddenly when Coetzee isn't a piece of the puzzle anymore, I thought, oh, they want to pin the blame all on me.

"…And they can_ do_ that?"

"Ja, well. TIA, huh? We don't exactly have the most stable of government military infrastructures, you know."

"Ah."

"So, that was that. They were gonna Court Marshall me, and I was fairly fucking certain that I'd end up getting shot or something like that, but as it turns out, come trial time, they just wanna talk. They wanna make a deal with me."

Maddy stays silent.

"The deal was, I tell them about Coetzee, about the shit he had me running and all the little things he had been cutting me in on, and they would cut me loose, huh? Just like that," He snaps his fingers. "They wanted information from me, you know?" He sniffs, and rubs at his nose. "But they wanted it kept between me, and them. That was _it._ If word one got out to anyone else, I'd be as good as dead and they made that _crystal_ clear to me."

Maddy swallows thickly. Things are starting to make sense.

"Ja. Imagine their faces when your article hit the newsstands."

She brings a hand to her mouth and leans against the kitchen sink to support her knees.

"Now, I'm not blaming it on you, huh? So don't worry about that. It isn't your fault. I told you to write that article, and oh Maddy, you wrote it, didn't you?" He flashes her a cynical grin and she just stares at him, doe-eyed.

"Needless to say, the Army is not very pleased with me. They thought I'd gotten a hold of you and had gone back on my word to them. I was going to contact you and tell you what was going on before you could put anything to print, but that article came out before I could get to a phone, you see? So it looks like I snitched."

"Jesus, Archer, I'm sorry-"

"Ah ah, no, I said it isn't your fault, huh? Like I said, I told you to write, and that's what you did. It's all just shitty timing, ja? It isn't anything you did."

He takes another drag off of the cigarette, studying the dying bud as he exhales once more.

"So, you know. They obviously want me dead, and I've got nowhere to go, honestly. I mean, where can I go? Not Libera, not Sierra Leone, not Guinea… I can't stay in Saffa, and I certainly haven't got the means to travel north."

"So…"

He scoffs at himself, flicking the last of the ash from the cigarette stub, shrugs, and grinds it into his palm. "_So_, I called Solomon."

He looks up at her, not saying a thing. There's a little hint of a smile on his face, but just barely. Maddy can hardly comprehend what he's told her. _She_ is responsible for this. Somehow, it's hard to comprehend that. She didn't _know._ How could she have? Her heart sinks and her fingers tremble against her lips.

"_So_, are you gonna starve me until I tell you everything? I might not last; this is a pretty long story, huh?"

"Oh. Yeah, alright."

Her response is shaky, and he can hear the astounded tone in her voice. Archer runs his fingers through his hair and looks away, briefly considering an apology. He chooses not to. She asked for facts, and that's all he has for her. Partly, he feels guilty for adding more weight to her shoulders when none of it is _really_ her fault, but if she wants to know the truth, this is it. No matter how much it stings, the truth is as it is, and he can't change it. He knows very well how to lie, but sugarcoating is another matter entirely.

Maddy has turned to the stove again, and stares blankly at the frying pan which now contains an egg and a few pieces of bacon. She is trying to swallow her heart, but it hurts. There's that familiar tingle behind her eyes, and she can't help it when the tears start coming. She can't remember a time in her life where she has cried more than this. She suspects soon, she will have no more tears.

"So, um." She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and then on her pyjamas. "What… happened with Solomon? How did you get a hold of him?"

"It wasn't particularly hard to get a hold of him. I mean, he was all over the news, the papers, everywhere. It wasn't exactly small potatoes, what happened with him and the pink, huh?"

She nods. Archer has his ways of getting in touch, she doesn't need to know more than that.

"But Solo was a good man. It took a long while, but he really saved my arse, you know? I had to stay in hiding and contact between us was pretty brief, but I still knew a few people. I couldn't contact them without using Solomon as my middle man, and he pulled me out of a tight situation there, huh? He came through brilliantly."

"So… what did he do?"

"Ah well, you know. Since he's gotten into politics and all, he's made some connections of his own. I suppose I might have twisted his arm a little, you know, reminding him that without me, his son would probably still be in Freetown with an AK on his back. But as I said, huh? He came through. I can't go into too much detail but the long and short of it is that he pulled a lot of strings and I have been granted Asylum to the UK."

Maddy perks up almost instantly. "So you're _not_ going back to Africa? You… you live in England?"

He smirks and considers his second cigarette of the morning, but out of courtesy to his host, decides to abstain until later. Her question isn't really one of concern, it's more about excitement than anything. He doesn't want to have to tell her the rest of the story.

"Ja, well, unfortunately it's not quite that simple, huh?"

Maddy tenses her jaw again, and finishes cooking the egg. She slides it onto a plate without a word along with the bacon, and passes it to him.

"Nothing ever is, with you." She sighs and puts the pan back on the stove, setting it down with a bit more force than is necessary. There _always_ has to be some kind of a catch with him. Nothing is ever easy.


End file.
